Suddenly I am at work with colleagues, nicknamed and unseen. One wins a contest. We applaud. Another gets published; another; again, again, again. We cheer. Another stops writing – personal problems. We sorrow. We rejoice when grief produces art; we shed a tear to read.

Two visit. Ah. We learn one is from across the ocean. Ah, and so is another. Another. America. England. Spain. Africa. This funny name is a guy. That odd one’s a gal. Info crumbs scattered among work, but always the work, the art, the striving.

And then we are connected, faces showing, people together. A little chatter, but rules get us back to work. We write, hear one suck on a cigarette, one type tickticktick, one sigh, then laugh, then mutter to herself. We write.

“What time is it?”

He’s in charge of the rules, when to wrap up the chat-time, when to restart work. We chime in. “One-ten” says Seattle. “Four-ten,” says Minnesota. We snicker, scattered across the globe in our own time and space.

Recent Posts

About

Lee taught professional and legal writing to graduate students for many years, until deciding to re-invent herself as a fiction writer. She is an active participant in Liberty Hall Writers Group and Codex, writing and critiquing speculative fiction.
Contact: lee.hallison at gmail.com
or twitter @ leehallison